


little fish and young buck

by namarupa



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, F/M, Fix-It of Sorts, Gen, Kid Fic, Non-Canon Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-06
Updated: 2019-04-06
Packaged: 2020-01-05 19:20:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,525
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18372458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/namarupa/pseuds/namarupa
Summary: Young Lysa commits a grave error. Young Stannis tries his best to help.





	little fish and young buck

**Author's Note:**

> I have Lysa about three years younger than Stannis. She's five-ish and he's eight in this fic. 
> 
>  
> 
> **Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the G.R.R. Martin. I am in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any previously copyrighted material. No copyright infringement is intended.**

 

 

Lysa did not mean to throw her ball onto her lord father's desk, truly, she did not. But his solar had a section of wall that gave her new toy-a ball painted bright river-blue-the best bounce, made it go so high she had to strain her head to watch it fly.

Yet this time when she flung it, it did not fall back into her waiting hands but crashed onto the great wooden desk by the window, and to Lysa's horror, knocked over the pitcher full of wine father always kept there. When she worked up the courage to approach the desk, she saw that the wine had flooded and seeped into some parchment that looked important- father always kept the important parchment on his desk, and here and there the wine had blotted out the words and made the ink run in ugly streaks.

Lysa's knees quaked and trembled- oh she would be punished! Surely! She did not dare stay. She did not even spare a thought to her lovely ball, letting it lie there on the desk as she turned on her heels and fled the solar in terror of her father's temper once he saw the proof of her naughtiness.

 

* * *

 

 

Stannis was reading under the shade of one of Riverrun's many apple trees when a little figure dashed past. His mother was strong in the faith of the seven and discouraged talk of the Children, whom some of the smallfolk said were fair folk, those strangely-coloured creatures who took pleasure in men's downfalls. His mother said they did not exist, but Stannis could swear the bedraggled thing who'd just taken shelter under the next tree was one of the other kind.

He got up to investigate, and when the little girl turned her face to look at him he thought, well, she's certainly not anything close to fair. In fact, with her puffy eyes and splotchy red face she looked rather horrendous. But she was not a child of the forest and not a thing, but Lysa Tully, the younger daughter of his host.

Riverrun was a different kind of stronghold from his home- not that it was a competition, but in Stannis' own opinion Storm's End was the greatest castle in Westeros. There was nothing like looking down at the great waves of Shipbreaker's Bay crashing into each other in a storm. When Durran's Point welcomed the fury of the sea, Stannis believed in his bones that the Storm Kings of old had magic in their blood to make a fortress such as Storm's End. Riverrun on the other hand overlooked endless rolling hills of green instead of cliffs that had to be farmed in terraces, and now in the middle of spring the hills looked like they were blanketed in gold. He'd sat in the Wheel Tower watching the Tumblestone flow from the window, as it churned the great waterwheel in an endless cycle. It was not the sea, but a river had it's beauty as well, and Riverrun had many rivers to draw power from. Stannis could not as yet puzzle out a greater meaning, but the thought came to him that rivers fed into the sea, and it was a thought worth holding on to.

Riverrun seemed a place untouched and the people here were well-meaning, less prone to hurried answers and quick repartee, preferring to speak in the slow rolling drawl of the flatlands, to which he secretly delighted in listening. 

For that, Stannis remembered his manners, and more importantly Lord Hoster's booming laugh and Lady Minisa's swift embrace- startling Stannis in all honesty- when Stannis politely wished to stay on rather than accompany the large company who to see off Robert, who was to be fostered in the Vale. He supposed he might be causing some problems, but his parents had let him be. Father had merely given him that half despairing look that sometimes made Stannis feel smaller, and Mother had ruffled his hair and laughed some, but gently. Robert seemed not to mind that Stannis didn't want to travel all the way, and Stannis hadn't wanted to say he dreaded their parting for fear of Robert laughing at him again. Lady Minisa and Lord Hoster's easy kindness had eased much of the queer hollow feeling that had plagued him ever since he'd bid his family goodbye at the castle gates.

So even though Stannis decided then and there that he would rather not ever see a red head cry again, he stiffly patted Lysa Tully's thin shoulder and asked her what the matter was.

Lysa shuffled her feet and said nothing.

Stannis was at a loss. He had no experience offering comfort to crying girls. Lysa continued to emit small sounds like gurgles while Stannis worked up the courage to say something sensible. He grinded his teeth in frustration but came to a stop the moment the image his mother's reproachful face flashed before his eyes, and then stopped pondering as well, recalling to mind with some relief that he had in fact seen his mother console some of the serving girls who missed their homes.

"I would like very much to help you Lady Lysa, but I cannot do so if you will not tell me what the matter is," Stannis said. There, that was much better.

Lysa faced him, a slow dawning hope chasing away the sad droop of her mouth. "Really, you would help me?"

"- I-"

Stannis suddenly wondered if he had walked into something beyond him. Lysa was an impish girl. Stannis had seen her run around the castle without a care in the world to escape her Septa's lessons, to that lady's vexation. She was so unlike her sister Catelyn. Yet she had also asked Stannis for tales of Storm's End and listened with quiet attentiveness. And while Catelyn had helped him pick books from the library, it was Lysa who showed him the best places to sit and read them. And besides, Stannis had as good as given his word.

"Yes," said Stannis. "I would. Won't you tell me what happened?"

Lysa flushed a dark pink, much like Robert when he got into a scrape. "I- I was playing in Father's solar, and my ball- it made all the words runny!"

"..Your ball made words...run?"

Lysa's lips began trembling. Stannis had a terrible feeling she was going to cry again. He hastily sat down and patted the space next to him, keeping his mother in mind.

"Why don't you sit down and tell me the whole of it. Slowly."

 

* * *

 

 

She had barely finished her story before the solution to all her troubles became clear to Stannis.

"Why, you must go to your father and apologize for what you did."

Lysa looked at him as if he'd just suggested drowning the castle kittens. "But what if Father shouts at me? I ruined his important documents!"

She said documents like do-ki-ments.

"Do-cu-ments," said Stannis,"en. You put your tongue up at the last part, like so," he demonstrated. He passed the next five minutes demonstrating at her request, rather gratified that she didn't rebel at his attempts to correct her pronunciation.

"It is only proper," he said later, "that he scold you if you've done wrong. And it is only proper that you admit to your wrongs."

"I do not like being so proper. My Septa always says proper young ladies must do this and that but I think it is boring. I hate sewing," Lysa said mutinously, picking a blade of grass to shreds.

"But it is still your duty." Stannis wondered if he too would rebel if he had to learn to sew. Perhaps it was because he enjoyed his lessons that he never strayed from them. "House Tully's words are family, duty, and honor. If you are a true Tully you would live by those words."

Lysa's eyes began to fill. Stannis felt a brief pang of irritation, tiring of her constant moping. He wished to the Seven Catelyn could come and take Lysa off his hands, but then it faded as he took her in, from her hunched shoulders to her little clenched hands. She was only a baby, pale and frightened.

"Come now," he said. "Stop your tears. Your lord father pays the bards who don't even sing well because it pleases you, your sister and your lady mother, and he is very fair when he judges criminals brought to his hearing. Do you think he would be cruel to you, a girl of five and his own daughter at that? You should tell him now before he finds out himself. He will not be so cross."

Lysa hurriedly wiped her eyes with her sleeves. Stannis bit his lip. He had not thought to offer her his handkerchief.

"I suppose I could...you promise he will not be cross?" Lysa said, clutching at his sleeve in consternation.

Stannis shrugged. "My father always tells us to come forward with our mistakes, otherwise being false would become habit, and the habit would set in like rot."

"I do not wish to rot!"

She actually got up, to Stannis' surprise, still pulling at his sleeve until he got to his feet as well.

"Will you come with me?" She pleaded. Her eyes were clear as the sky above them, set in her pale face, and Stannis found he could not refuse her when she looked at him like that.

"If you like," he said.

 

* * *

 

 

They discovered Lord Hoster in the yard overseeing the daily training. He did cut a fearsome figure, with his wild red beard and piercing blue eyes.

Hoster frowned as he watched the men-at-arms for it seemed as though spring had brought new weight to their limbs and slowed their attacks, but his frown melted away once he spotted Lysa traipsing towards him, clinging to young Stannis Baratheon's arm. He half wondered if she was coming to announce that she would like to marry him, mad as she was on trying to play at weddings with all the boys in the castle.

Hoster found he would not mind the younger Baratheon as a son-in-law. He seemed to take after his grandfather, Eldon the Elder, who had a dry wit and followed the old ways like the Northmen. The Seven knew, Eldon the Elder looked enough like a Northman and was dour enough to be one himself. Stannis was a studious boy with a mind that already cleaved to duty like a first love. And he showed some promise with a sword.

Yet Stannis Baratheon stood firmly behind Lysa after saying a quiet word to her, and Lysa marched up to him like she was a queen confronting her enemy and confessed her sins.

Out came the story, rather pathetic in its telling as Lysa seemed to shake all over. She held her ground and narrated her rather unfortunate adventures and by the end of it Hoster Tully spared a brief thought to the letter he'd drafted to Rickard Stark offering Cat's hand to Stark's eldest, and tried not to let it show how relieved he was to have an excuse to put the whole thing off. Doubtless Minisa would have found fault with the wording anyway.

Lysa was still staring at him white faced, and Hoster felt a pang of hurt that she would be so terrified of his anger. He kneeled and kissed her brow.

"You are a brave girl, my little Lysa. It isn't often people admit what wrongs they commit. And it was wrong that you took so little care in my solar. But it was an accident and so all is forgiven."

"Oh, I was so worried, but Stannis told me it was the right thing to do and I'm so glad I told you-"

He grinned, flicking the tip of her adorably small nose. "As am I! Now, if only you could spare a smile for your poor father we'll forget the whole mistake ever happened."

"But I don't want to forget. Stannis says mistakes remembered make mistakes no more! But I forgot what it actually means," said Lysa with a furrow between her brows, "I'll have to ask him again."

"So Stannis says, eh? Allright, you do that sweetling. Promise you'll be more careful next time you play in my solar?"

"Oh, yes!" Lysa said fervently, flinging herself against her father and planting a smacking kiss against his cheek. "Thank you Papa! And Papa, I am a true Tully, aren't I?"

"Er-of course you are. Lysa Tully of Riverrun, as sure as the Seven in their sept."

Lysa shot him a beaming smile. Just as quickly as she'd come, she took off towards Stannis

Lord Hoster gazed after her in quiet amusement. Stannis was still waiting for her by the walls, a solemn figure trying not to show that his attention was wavering between Lysa and Hoster's men with their swords locked in mock-duel.

The moment the boy looked up, Hoster inclined his head towards him, and Stannis returned the gesture with the kingliest of bows.

 

* * *

 

 

Lysa rather liked Stannis. He used big words and spoke like Maester Kym but he didn't laugh at her or pull her braids like his brother Robert. He wasn't as nice as Cat, or little baby Ed, but he was nice enough. He had helped her after all, when she'd been so frightened. That part of him was like a prince from a song, coming to a maiden's rescue.

She'd tried telling him so, but he went bright red and called her silly because she'd rescued herself and he only gave her some sound advice. Well, that was alright too. Father himself had called her brave, and that it took courage to hold on to duty and set a wrong right. Mother was pleased too. She said Lysa was growing up. Lysa liked the sound of that and it made her proud to be a Tully lady. If she and Cat could grow up to be like mother, a proper lady, it would be the most wondrous thing in the whole world.

But she still thought Stannis felt like something out of a song when he wasn't reading old tomes or hunching over a cyvasse board with Maester Kym. He went quiet when other people around him were loud and when he would finally speak everyone would listen. And when people told him something couldn't be done he only looked at them until they starting asking themselves why it was so.

He wasn't a Florian or a real prince like Rhaegar Targaryen who sang songs about moonlight and old ghosts, but he did feel a bit like Argella Durrandon from the old stories he told her. Lysa could imagine Stannis holding a castle against a conqueror even if the odds were against him, and it seemed fitting that he came of her line; a Storm Queen of old. He would certainly be furious enough not to lose Storm's End at any case, that anyone would dare take it from him. He seemed to love it just as much as she loved Riverrun.

**Author's Note:**

> I like these two together. I have some future scenarios/fics scribbled out... Comment, Kudos, Flame etc. Let me know what you think!


End file.
